


Get Juiced to It

by JessenoSabaku



Category: One Piece
Genre: Family, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 22:05:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4852217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessenoSabaku/pseuds/JessenoSabaku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some days on the Sunny commenced with something legendary. But today, it began with just a pitcher of tangerine juice. Gen Nakamaship. Includes whole crew. Written for artist Idaida from the OP Reverse Bang collaboration event. Please visit her tumblr, "idaida" and "idadobnik" or mine, "jessenosabaku" to see the piece this story was based off of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get Juiced to It

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! Long time no see. The time since my last update has been so long because I’ve been working on several projects for the One Piece Reverse Bang collaboration event, as both an artist and a writer. Here’s the first of my two writing projects for that collab! I got to work with an artist I really admire, who let me indulge in this long-ass fic and provided some wonderful sketches in addition to her main illustration, which was what I based the story off of. She’s Idaida and idadobnik on tumblr. Here is a link to her post with all the art: http://idaida.tumblr.com/post/129647553719/get-juiced-to-it-my-contribution-to-the
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy it! We worked very hard.

At the start of every week, Nami picked some fruit from the mikan trees and juiced them. Bellemere’s trees were her pride and joy, and tending to them was one of the few hobbies that kept her from going bat-shit crazy like all the others on the crew. 

Originally, Nami picked the fruit alone. She couldn’t trust anyone with Bellemere’s trees but herself. Luffy and Zoro especially were just an accident waiting to happen. But as Nami nursed her tiny grove, she steeped in regret. With leaves brushing the tops of their heads, she and Nojiko had once enjoyed the peace of harvest with their mother. These trees were her treasured joy—another piece of the woman whose memory, every day, still helped Nami push on. These trees were family, and family is something Nami couldn’t have alone. During the two-year separation, sometimes they were all she could think about, and how she had refused to share them with a single person.

So, ever since the crew reunited, each week Nami chose a special person to help her collect and juice the tangerines. Nobody knew what system she used to make the choice. Usopp surmised that she chose whoever was nicest to her that week. Luffy swore up and down that she only took cash bribes. Brook, in his infallible wisdom, proclaimed all was dependent on the style of panties she wore on the day she took her pick. All close, but no cigar.

This week, the stars smiled upon Chopper. He took up a huge basket, holding it aloft for Nami to deposit tangerines, eyes sparkling the whole time. Nami quietly observed him, gifting him with small smiles and a few slices of fruit in return. Too soon they finished their harvest, Chopper teetering beneath the weight of their gatherings. He huffed and puffed with excitement for what was to come.

Grinning widely, Nami aimed her pointer finger at him like a pistol. “Doctor, are you a disease? Because your enthusiasm is infectious.”

The little reindeer recoiled in shock, then squealed with laughter. Anyone would do the same, seeing Nami act so goofy and kind. Though the others would never admit it, they craved the opportunity to be Nami’s helper every week, because whomever she picked got the singularly spectacular opportunity to be at the center of the universe.

Nami helped Chopper make the long, tottering climb down the stairs to the lower part of the deck. Nearby, Luffy lounged with Robin in her deck chair, grumbling, “she never lets me … when am I gonna get my turn …” Robin could only smile knowingly behind her open book. Ignoring her captain’s dissatisfied grumblings, Nami led Chopper into the galley. She received Chopper’s basket, resting it on the counter. Meanwhile, the young doctor threw open the shutters, welcoming the gentle sunlight. Nami peered outside, a smirk creeping onto her face--the captain had already forgotten his anger, fast asleep at Robin’s side.

“Nami, I brought the juicer!” Chopper squeaked, popping up beside her. She provided him a wooden stepping stool so he could place it on the counter himself. Then she fetched a knife and a bowl, filling the latter with tangerines to be washed.

“Alright, Chopper, I’ll clean and cut the fruit, and you can juice them.” Nami cut one tangerine into two halves right away, handing them over. “Not that you don’t have the dexterity to use a knife,” she quipped with a pointed look at Chopper’s tiny hooves.

“No, I understand. Juicing tangerines requires a skill set only a person of my kind could provide--!” Chopper declared, and then with a short thrust of his hoof violently mashed one of the tangerine halves into the juicer.

“That’s not how you do it,” Nami observed drily, tossing away the pulpy remains of the fruit Chopper had just demolished.

The little reindeer hung his head in shame. “I got excited.”

With an encouraging smile, Nami placed the other tangerine half in Chopper’s hooves.

They fell into a comfortable rhythm, the little doctor moving in harmony with the thump of Nami’s knife and her soft humming. A slice of fruit would pass into one hoof and he’d return a rind with the other, which went into another basket. Later, the leftovers would be ground into fertilizer. Chopper could feel his heart pumping in time, tugged gently along by the tempo Nami set.

“Juice, juice, juice,” he muttered under his breath, and poured the now-full juicer into a jug Nami produced. With his chocolate-brown eyes downcast and all the tension suddenly unlocked from his shoulders, he glowed serenely, soft and firm as the ages-old moon.

“Chopper, what’s your favorite thing about being a doctor?” Nami asked out of the blue.

The young boy swung his gaze upwards in surprise.

“U-um … healing people! No, wait, making them smile! Uh, preferably both … at the same time …” He looked down, idly gutting a tangerine.

“Yeah? And what else?” she asked casually, halving more fruit.

“What else is there?”

“What are your favorite treatments? Is the tourniquet the most fun, or the bandages …?”

“N-none of it is fun!” Chopper squeaked, tears coming to his eyes. “I don’t like seeing my nakama get hurt!”

“Then what’s the easiest to do?” Nami pressed on.

“I …” he paused and chewed his lip. “I guess the tourniquet. But even if you do it right, sometimes it’s still hard to find the vein. Like on Sanji’s arms.” He glanced over incredulously. “He’s so pale, you’d think you could find at least one vein, no problem! And his blood type is already so rare--when we were on Fishman Island, I had to stick him so much, I thought he’d just bleed out.”

“Might’ve been for the best if he did,” Nami commented with a smirk.

“Franky’s the worst,” Chopper continued, hooves automatically carrying out their task. “He’s shown me a blueprint of his body and I _still_ have no idea what’s skin and what’s metal! And you can’t even give Brook a tourniquet because--”

With two tangerines clutched tightly in his hands, Chopper suddenly reared back and shouted shrilly, “He’s just bones! Yohohoho!!”

Nami barked out a hearty laugh, and Chopper soon devolved into giggles beside her.

“Sounds tough,” she remarked, sun-spotted cheeks stretched in the widest grin she could manage.

“Well, in the end, it’s worth it just to hear them say ‘thank you,’” Chopper sighed happily.

“When they remember,” Nami added.

“Well, at least Brook is consistent about it. Even though he doesn’t usually need my help. And the others …” he trailed off, lips pursed. “Either way, I get to help my friends, and that’s what counts.”

“Altruism doesn’t suit you. Come on, isn’t there at least one thing you enjoy doing as a doctor? Something that keeps you going when the ‘thank you’s run out. ‘Cause they always run out.”

Mouth set in a thin line, Chopper cautiously looked her way again, a hint of guilt shining through. “Um … well … I guess I like …” He lowered his head. “Sutures are … pretty fun. I mean, it’s gross! And they hurt afterward! But I guess they’re … fun.”

He chewed on his bottom lip some more. “Does that make me a bad person?”

“I’m pretty sure the reason you enjoy it isn’t because you like stabbing people with needles,” Nami reasoned.

“It’s just really visceral, and … real,” Chopper explained. “With the way the needle curves straight through the skin, and how you have to tug the string tight, it feels like what you do is really affecting someone at their core. And when you’re finished, you can see all the stitches clearly. And you think, ‘I did that.’”

“And with good reason. You should be proud, to be able to carry out such a delicate procedure. Especially with your hooves. I’m surprised you can even hold a scalpel, let alone a surgical needle.”

The little reindeer frantically beat Nami’s side with both arms, shrieking, “Don’t make fun of me and praise me in the same breath! Bastard! I’m not happy at all!”

“But you are happy, right? Doing what you do on this crew,” she pointed out, and he froze. “If you just wanted to help people or be thanked, you wouldn’t have joined a crew as selfish as ours.”

“I … I know that,” Chopper stated resolutely, but his pout contradicted him.

Nami carefully placed a hand on top of his head. “You make a difference. Wanting to cure all earthly diseases is nice and all, but this is your dream too.” She grabbed his good antler, giving his head a firm shake. “There’s nothing wrong with enjoying what you do. Have some pride.”

While enduring that brain-rattling shake, Chopper managed to glimpse a smile that showcased every bright tooth. Just as quickly as it came, it was gone from Nami’s face. Nami smiled a lot more as time went on, but rarely quite like that. The sight of it made him open his mouth before he could stop himself.

“But, Nami, my pride belongs to you.” Heat jumped to his cheeks and he quickly amended, “And the others too, I mean.”

“That’s okay. Because my pride belongs to you too. From now on, when you treat a wound, think of me. I’ll help you be proud, and you’ll help me.” She held out a pinky finger. “Okay?”

He stared at her for a few moments, growing more distressed with each passing moment.

“What’s wrong?” she frowned.

“I …” he started, “I don’t have … fingers …”

Shocked, Nami glanced at Chopper’s tiny hooves. “Oh yeah. Then we’ll shake on it,” she laughed, and stuck out her hand properly. Chopper hesitantly accepted, and they sealed the deal.

“Just so we’re clear, that pride is a loan. With interest!” Nami insisted, making a circle with her index finger and thumb. The morning sun traced the line of her body, reflecting a gentle ray of light onto the coldness of Chopper’s snow-born soul. “You gotta pay it back in full, okay?”

“Okay,” Chopper nodded.

“Good. Now, let’s hurry and finish juicing. We’re almost done.”

They swiftly juiced the rest of the tangerines, falling into idle chatter. By the time they tossed the last peel into the basket, they had just enough juice to fill two one-gallon jugs. Slim pickings for a crew their size with such big stomachs, but otherwise they risked picking the mikan trees bare.

Sanji strode into the kitchen, face lighting up as soon as he saw them. “Nami-swan, you’re so radiant! Your beauty has not diminished in the slightest since breakfast …”

“And me?” the reindeer demanded loudly, hooves in the air.

“You’re always glowing too, Chopper,” Sanji grinned, patting the boy’s head. “I didn’t think I needed to tell you that.”

“The juice is on the counter. Make it last,” Nami said, lifting the basket of tangerine rinds. “I’m going to take these to the composter.”

On her way out of the galley, Nami once more playfully shook Chopper by his horn. “Thanks for everything, doctor. You really helped me.” Then she was gone. Her voice still remained, echoing quietly in Chopper’s ears. Shade fell on the kitchen.

Sanji carefully nudged the jugs into the few empty spaces in the fridge. He didn’t realize Chopper was staring until he swung the door closed.

The cook lifted one swirly eyebrow. “Why are you making that face at me?”

“Ah--” Chopper began, startled out of his daze. “I was just wondering … um …” He drew circles with one foot. “Has Nami ever chosen you to help pick the tangerines?”

“No,” Sanji admitted. He chuckled at the piteous look in Chopper’s doe eyes. “Don’t feel bad for me. Those trees are her most precious possession--I am already very lucky to be trusted with the juice that comes from them.”

“Her most precious possession …” Chopper trailed off thoughtfully.

Sanji leaned against the fridge, thumbs tucked into his pockets. “Do you know who those trees used to belong to?”

Chopper shook his head slowly.

“You joined the crew later than Nami, so I’m not surprised,” Sanji mused, pulling out a cigarette. “They belonged to a woman named Bellemere--Nami’s mother.”

“Nami’s mom ...” Chopper gaped. “The person who raised Nami … I can’t even imagine what she must be like.”

“She was really strong,” Sanji supplied reverently. He lit his cigarette, took a short drag, and admired the solid blue sky outside the galley window. “Before she raised Nami and her sister, she was a Marine. She could match and cut down any opponent, with both her mind and body. But more than that, she had the willpower to face death, unafraid. She was a wonderful woman. Beyond a woman.”

“Is she …?” Chopper hedged.

“Yeah. Though it’s not my right to tell you about that. If you want to know more, you should ask Nami.” The cook dreamily chewed his filter, curls of acrid smoke puffing out with each breath. “I’d like to go back to Nami’s village someday and kneel before her mother’s grave.”

“M-me too!” Chopper asserted with an emotional sniffle.

Looking upon the doctor with a hint of pride, Sanji said, “Well, in any case, being entrusted with the juice from Bellemere’s trees is enough for me. Besides, I make my confessions to Nami-swan regularly.”

Chopper blinked, growing confused. “You mean … love confessions?”

Sanji smiled broadly, holding a finger to his lips. “I’ve said too much.” With the same finger, he pointed past Chopper. “Incoming shitty worthless marimo, 6 o’ clock.”

The reindeer turned to look behind him and shrieked when he saw Zoro standing right behind him. The swordsman’s face and chest were completely square with the window, barely an inch between his body and the frame. He obscured almost all light, shadows creeping like beasts over his features. Chopper gave Sanji an accusing glare.

“I _said_ ‘incoming,’” Sanji shrugged.

“He was already _here_!” Chopper yelled shrilly.

“Don’t waste your time bickering with the shit-cook. He’s impervious to logic,” Zoro calmly interjected. “More importantly, it’s time to take my stitches out. You said you’d do it today, right?”

“I did,” Chopper answered with a pointed tone, “Though, if _some_ body had listened to me and foregone training last week, I could have taken them out a long time ago.”

“I was fine. They only ripped a little bit.”

“If they rip at _all_ I have to redo them!” Chopper rubbed his face with both hooves. “Whatever, it’s alright, you’re fine now and that’s what matters. Come on, we’ll go take them out now.”

The doctor stepped out of the kitchen and grabbed Zoro’s hand, tugging him along.

“I can walk there by myself,” the first-mate grumbled.

Chopper responded without slowing his gait, “Need I remind you all the times you’ve gotten lost on your way to the bathroom?”

Ever unhelpful, the chef popped his head out onto the deck, cupping his mouth with one hand. “Don’t get lost, marimo-chan! Always walk with a chaperone!”

“Fuck you,” Zoro snarled. The two men exchanged a middle finger salute. Well, at least they were bonding. Chopper simply rolled his eyes and kept walking, hoof engulfed by Zoro’s imprisoned hand, which had already tightened in affection.

 

Elsewhere on the ship, Franky tightened screws and buffed out the last tiny scratches on the walls that he’d found during his morning routine. He could go on for ages, fussing around every room and repairing the slightest blemish. But even so, he forced himself to set his tools aside for a short break and trudged groggily out of the bowels of the ship to get some fresh air. His body and mind were floating in the perilous limbo between breakfast and lunch. Being able to be hungry, to not have to eat through a straw, to be able to eat anything--all of these, he knew, were great blessings. And having a chef who would not rest until you were full was great too.

As he stepped out onto the deck, Robin brushed past him, carrying their captain ass-first over her shoulder. He pointed at Luffy questioningly, brow furrowing. She smiled and turned to the side, showing Luffy’s face. From the looks of it, he was comatose.

“Going to dip him in the fish tank,” Robin said shortly, a twinkle of mischief in her eye. Franky didn’t bother asking the pointless question of “why.” You could get lost in the inner mechanisms of Robin’s mind for days.

“Just don’t drop him,” he said to her back as she walked away. Robin’s reliable. Luffy would be alright. Probably.

When he turned his attention back to the deck, to his surprise, he saw Usopp sitting cross-legged with his back against the mast and a sketchbook across his lap. At his side lay a pen, inkwell, and a forlorn-looking lumpy knapsack. Was Usopp designing a new weapon or tool? With a tingling in his spine Franky jogged over, immediately thrusting the entire upper half of his body into Usopp’s space.

“You got some super inspiration?” he asked, craning his head to look at Usopp’s work. He didn’t expect to see such a gentle sketch, depicting two equally tender, familiar faces--one covered in fur, and the other surrounded by soft, red hair.

“Nami and Chopper were juicing tangerines,” Usopp said, ducking his head bashfully. “As soon as I saw it, I … sort of dropped everything and started drawing.”

Framed by the unyielding galley window, shutters thrown wide open, Nami and Chopper sprung forth like daisies, fresher than the tidy little flowers Robin potted and cared for beneath the windowsill. Their bright smiles were the center of an otherwise-white world. Franky glanced up at the galley window, finding it now absent of life, except for a few brief flashes of Sanji’s blonde hair.

The long-nosed man retired his pencils and uncapped the ink well. Franky plopped down uninvited, leaning his side on Usopp until he was in the perfect position to watch. Usopp groaned in complaint, but said nothing, and continued working.

This was one of a mere handful of occasions when, at the same time, Usopp shirked the duties of becoming a warrior of the sea, and Franky’s obsession with his robots abated. The rare instances they took pause from their responsibilities, they always managed to meet in the middle like this. Usopp would take up his paper and canvas, and get lost capturing the subtleties of the divide in the horizon, or the soft curve of a crewmate’s body. And Franky, from whatever far corner of the ship, would be drawn like a magnet to his side and get lost just the same. They didn’t talk a lot, just watched the masterpiece take form, hypnotized by the dancing of the brush.

“You could’ve done this professionally,” Franky pointed out absently.

“Well, I’m _already_ a pro at it,” Usopp huffed with pride. “It’s the skill that matters, not getting paid for it. Although that would be pretty great too.”

“You just make stuff look real,” the shipwright added, putting a blocky finger to his lips in thought.

“Most stuff doesn’t seem real until it’s on a page,” Usopp murmured appreciatively.

“Hey, hey,” Franky gave the sniper’s chest a quick smack, “you’ve done abstract, right? You should totally do that here! It would look _super_ cool!”

Usopp’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know …”

“Trust me,” Franky said and turned the sketchbook to the next page. “‘Cause see, you put the window here, right?”

“Yeah …?” Usopp was very uncertain, but he began drawing according to the shipwright’s instructions.

“And then if Chopper’s here, and you stretch the horns real big … out of the window ...”

“Alright …”

“Make the angles on ‘em sharp, too, so he looks super powerful! And then if you have Nami here, you can make her real tall too … give her stylized hair, Usopp, her hair’s not that soft anyway.”

“I don’t know, have you ever felt it before?”

Franky pressed on without listening, “And then make her body a pear …”

“Wait, an actual pear?!” Usopp gaped.

“Why not? She could do with a little more green. Besides, she likes fruit.”

“Yeah, but I think she likes money better. What if she was made of pearls?”

“Hm, yeah, I’m diggin’ that!” Franky nodded emphatically.

“And maybe it would be cool if we put oranges everywhere? Like they’re levitating!” Usopp paused. “I mean, it makes sense, right? Nami has got to be a wizard, so …”

They continued like this for a while, Usopp’s quick fingers filling up the page with their ill-conceived improvements, laughing at each other’s dumb ideas (well, mainly Franky’s ideas). By the time they finished, Nami and Chopper were gone from the galley window, and the abominable abstract was inked and waiting to be colored.

Usopp sat back and surveyed their work. With a hint of a smile, he told Franky, “You’re a terrible influence.” Though, most of the ideas they used were Usopp’s.

"I think it looks funky, Usopp,” Franky said genuinely, receiving the sketchbook from his friend so he could take in the image in all its glory. He stared at it for all of three seconds before the words came bursting out of his mouth: “Let's build it."

The sniper perked up. “Build it? You mean, like a sculpture?” He leaned his chin on one hand, eyes drifting. “Mm, I guess … But we don’t have clay or plaster ...”

“Who needs that? We’re men of steel!” Franky flexed his robotic arms in illustration.

“Oh, right,” Usopp laughed, “Sometimes I forget we’re engineers. Well, you are, at least.”

“Hey, you are too,” Franky said, standing and offering his hand.

“Wait, right now?!” Usopp spluttered, instinctively reaching out. Franky clasped his arm and yanked him straight to his feet.

“Of course now.” The shipwright grinned. “Why not?”

“I was tending to some plants before I started drawing …”

Usopp beckoned Franky over to one of the banisters and they both leaned over. Several thick, latticed ropes of green and purple ivy mottled the Sunny’s otherwise-immaculate surface.

“Oh yeah,” Franky said, “The … Heracles ivy, right?”

This particular ivy was a botanical experiment Usopp had begun under Heracles’ tutelage, but never quite finished. It was an aimless project, just something to fill the man’s time--if he got lucky, he’d learn something from it eventually. In any case, he couldn’t bring himself to give up the plant Heracles had so diligently helped him raise. A few weeks prior, Usopp asked Franky if it could live on the side of the ship, since it had overrun his workshop to the point of endangering the room’s structural integrity.

“Yeah, it grows really fast, so I’ll have to haul it up and trim it every couple of weeks. Unless a sea-king decides to snack on them.” Usopp sighed, but an ember of pride glowed dimly in his eyes. “Well, at least the leaves are finally showing some change in shape …”

“But … haul it up?” Franky murmured, staring over the banister. “You can’t just … grab and pull it off, right?”

“Now, my good man, the Heracles ivy is not like any ordinary ivy!” Usopp declared, clapping Franky on the back. He held up an instructive finger. “It’s highly adaptable, strong as steel, and parasitic. Once somebody tries to pull it free, it immediately latches onto the person as its new host, making transportation a breeze!” He coughed, “Best to use gloves, though.”

“Dangerous, huh? I’m surprised,” Franky laughed, reaching down with one arm.

“A little bit, but not too much if you’re not constantly handling them--Franky, what are you doing?! Don’t touch it!”

Franky paused mid-lean, throwing Usopp a questioning look. Too late--the ivy had already latched a few leafy tendrils onto his arm, swimming up both arms and all the way around his giant torso.

“Oh. Don’t worry, Usopp, I got the H-ivy for you,” Franky noted brightly.

Usopp pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers. Something about that sounded really wrong, but he couldn’t pinpoint what.

“How about we just take it with us?” Franky suggested. “You can trim it later. Besides, I’m diggin’ this guy’s style.” He reached up, benevolently prodding a particularly sprightly leaf on his shoulder. “The chateau de Sunny treating you well, little dude?”

“Well, you’re mostly made of metal, so I guess you should be fine …” Usopp groaned, rubbing his eyes. “But only for an hour or two. Just enough to get started, then we have to get that stuff off you.”

“Roger,” Franky saluted.

 

Yet somehow, Franky’s secluded, dimly-lit workroom managed to become a time machine. The hour-long allowance stretched into two, and further still past Usopp’s ultimatum. They were catapulted into the future by twisting arguments and the solid, hollow thud of hammer against steel. The sculpture stood proudly half-formed, galley window mounted on a cylindrical hollowed-out base. Nami and Chopper lay on the floor, not yet affixed. Their abstracted stares watched the bickering in silence.

“We're not turning it into a robot!” Usopp cried in exasperation. “What could it even do?!”

“Be suuuuper cool, that's what!” Franky asserted convincingly. He rummaged in a pile of spare parts in the corner of the room, retrieving what looked like a pair of thin metal legs with cartoonishly huge feet.

“Oh no,” Usopp said sternly, jumping to his feet. He quickly confiscated the items and put them back in Franky’s pile. “We’re not putting legs on it! The drawing doesn't have legs!”

The blue-haired man frowned. “It doesn’t have a base, either, but we still mounted it on one.”

“That’s different, it can’t stand up without a foundation! I should’ve known you were planning to do this when you hollowed out the base,” Usopp moaned frustratedly. He threw his hands into the air. “Why can't it just be a sculpture? What’s wrong with that?”

“It's got to feel alive!” Franky insisted, but only received an unimpressed scowl.

“Look here.” He scooped up their crewmates and pressed them inside the galley window. “I was thinking instead of nailing Nami and Chopper down tight, we could rig them to move.” He leisurely tilted them from side to side, as if they were swaying with happiness. “After you paint them we'll put some colored lights in the base to make the whole thing shine.”

Still burning with anger, Usopp groped for a rebuttal but found none. “Hm ... that would be kind of neat,” he mumbled, cooling down.

“And when we get the legs on them, oh man, you'll never _believe_ \--”

Usopp clutched the shipwright’s arm before he could snag the robot parts from the pile. “We're not putting legs on my sculpture!!”

And so they continued to circle back through the same arguments for an hour more, managing to make very little progress. They couldn’t achieve agreement on whether their creation should live or remain static, but they finished air-brushing the color onto Nami and Chopper. They put down their tools, and before their previous altercations could revive, Usopp’s stomach growled fiercely.

“Ugh, so hungry,” he groaned. “It’s close to lunchtime, though …”

“You can get a snack if you want,” Franky advised casually. “I’m sure Sanji won’t mind.”

Usopp warily scrutinized him, eyes narrowed. He had a feeling that if he left now, Franky might take some creative liberties while he was gone. The shipwright stared back quizzically, without understanding. The sniper was weighing his options further when another gut-wrenching growl rumbled from his stomach.

“Alright, I need food,” he decided, standing up. Life necessities outweigh the fruits of art. “I’ll be back in about ten minutes. Make sure you don’t touch the pieces while they’re drying.”

He cast one last suspicious glance at Franky, then, against his better judgment, climbed up from the depths of the ship and back onto the deck. He paused, feeling that the ship was moving more slowly than usual. He saw Luffy sunbathing on his back in the grass, clothes looking slightly damp for some reason.

“Are we docking?” Usopp called out.

His captain held up a hand and waved lazily. “Robin’s got it.”

Good, Usopp thought. Usually two people would carry out docking procedures--one to lift the anchor, and the other to make sure it is secure. But Robin’s reliable. They’d be alright. Probably.

What did Nami say this island was called? Usopp tried to remember. “Pomelo,” he thought. An island with sprawling orchards and cozy cottages. Well, on the eastern side, at least, which was, thankfully, where they were docking. The west side had a high crime rate, ergo a large concentration of Marines.

The sniper came upon the kitchen door. He opened it just a crack and peeked through, long nose bending against the wood. Sanji was inside with his back to the door, washing some pots and pans.

“Here to ruin your appetite?” the cook responded without turning around. Usopp jumped, but his nerves were eased by the relaxed tone in the blonde’s voice. Good--maybe Sanji wouldn’t kill him.

“There still some takoyaki left over from yesterday?” Usopp asked cautiously.

“Just a little. Sit down, I’ll bring it to you.”

The sniper did as he was told, and was soon rewarded with a warm plate of takoyaki, served alongside a squat cup of chocolate-strawberry pudding with a caramel drizzle.

“You got lucky, long-nose,” Sanji half-joked, “If I hadn’t already planned to treat everyone with these pudding snacks, I’d kick you back to Sniper Island. Come lunchtime, you better eat everything. Leftovers are disappointing.”

Nodding submissively, Usopp dug into his food. Within less than a minute, he’d finished off the takoyaki and sucked up the pudding. As always, even Sanji’s leftovers were like a drink of water in a dry desert. And the pudding … Usopp exhaustedly prodded the inside of the cup with his tongue, seeking out any last bits of heaven.

“You alright?” Sanji asked, and Usopp paused, realizing that the cook had been watching him the whole time.

“Yeah, just been in the workshop with Franky all day,” Usopp sighed.

“Maintenance?” Sanji ventured, a flash of worry crossing his face.

The sniper shook his head. “A personal project. But you know how Franky is--he's always got an artistic opinion.”

Sanji grinned. This wasn’t the first time Usopp complained about sharing work with their shipwright.

“A conflict between creative ideas?” he guessed, pulling a cigarette carton from his breast pocket and tapping one out.

“It's just …” Usopp rubbed his face with one hand, “I thought we were building a sculpture together, but he has to make everything a machine! For God's sake, at one point he said he wants it to run on tangerine juice!”

“What?” Sanji froze with his lighter uncapped, its weak flame halfway to the cigarette in his mouth. “As in, Nami-san's mikans?!”

“Yeah! And I tried to tell him how much of a waste it was, and how mad she'd be, and how mad YOU'D be--”

“You're damn right I'm mad!” The chef violently snapped the lighter shut and pocketed his unused cigarette. Fury boiled in his ocean blue eye. “Does he have ANY idea how many tangerines Nami would have to squeeze to power one of his robots?!”

“Well, I mean, she usually gets someone to help her with that--” Usopp started, immediately realizing that he’d made a grave error.

Sanji slammed his hands down on the table so hard the plate jumped and the pudding cup toppled onto the floor.

“I can't even imagine her poor hands afterwards! All the citrus, and--” He grabbed Usopp by the suspenders. “What if she had a paper cut or a splinter, and got juice in the wound?”

Usopp raised trembling hands in surrender. “Sh-she'd ... wear a bandage?”

That answer was apparently unsatisfactory, as the chef dragged him out of the kitchen, still gripping the man’s jumper, and stomped down to Franky’s workshop. He kicked the door open, letting it smack against the wall. The noise drew Franky’s startled gaze.

“Oi, tin-man,” Sanji snarled. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you. 

“Yoho--!” Usopp burst out, then clamped both hands over his mouth. He shuffled backwards to escape Sanji’s looming figure. “I-I’m sorry, I was p-possessed …!”

“Can the beating for … whatever I did wait for about half an hour?” the blue-haired man requested. “Usopp and I need to hook up the lights.”

“You already installed the engine?” Usopp asked, surprised. He saw that Franky had already gone ahead and affixed their crewmates to galley window.

“Nah.” Franky ran a hand through his hair abashedly. “I thought about it, and you’re right, we should just keep it the way it is. Nami and Chopper are still movable though, if there’s a strong breeze.”

“What about Nami and Chopper?” came a familiar boyish voice from the doorway to the workshop. The three men turned to see Luffy standing there, wearing an expectant grin. His eyebrows shot up as he caught sight of the art project. “Whoa! A monument? No fair, you haven’t ever made one of me.”

“That’s because you never sit still long enough for anyone to capture your likeness,” Usopp complained. He’d tried so many times to draw his captain, once for every feather in a Southbird’s wing, but each attempt landed just shy of a suitable representation. Forget good, Usopp couldn’t even manage something _suitable_.

“Well you did just fine with Nami and Chopper,” Luffy pouted, pushing fearlessly past the still-fuming Sanji and tugged on the mobile nakama. “Just look--they’re the spitting image.”

Sanji pinched the bridge of his own nose, Usopp following suit, both just barely managing to bite back a sarcastic response. While they struggled with the inner conflict of Luffy’s flash of stupidity, Luffy examined every side of the sculpture, lifting it up to look underneath.

“Hey, the inside’s hollow!” he exclaimed.

The shipwright casually balanced the top of the sculpture with one hand to keep it from falling over, no small feat considering it was just a foot short of his height and had a girth comparable to the full length of his meaty torso.

“That’s where the engine was gonna go originally,” he explained. “We’ll fill it up soon, give the base some more support.”

“Be careful Luffy, it’s not finished yet,” Usopp objected, unease growing with each second.

As quickly as the captain’s study had commenced it ceased. Luffy removed his head from the sculpture, planting confident hands on his hips.

“Alright, I’ve decided!” he declared, much to everyone’s confusion. “I want it. Give it to me! That’s an order from your captain.”

Franky blinked. “Seriously?”

“No,” Usopp responded, flabbergasted.

“I see,” Luffy remarked, closing his eyes and donning an exceedingly mature expression. “It’s your decision. I guess there’s nothing I can do.”

“Captain …” Sanji warned in a low tone. His body tensed instinctually, sensing an immediate threat.

“Sanji,” Luffy nodded to the man in question, then the other two men in turn. “Usopp. Franky.”

Then, in the next half second, he launched himself at the sculpture, snatching it from beneath Franky’s hand. The shipwright made a grab for him, but the bastard slipped right underneath his reach and around his back. Sanji moved to intercept him, leg raised and ready to strike. But he could never have expected that Luffy would don the statue like an emperor’s robes and charge his way straight through. The top of the sculpture clipped Sanji in the jaw, catching him off guard just long enough to let Luffy slip past a terrified Usopp and up to the lawn deck above.

“Are you okay?” Usopp shouted to the chef. He didn’t see any bleeding, at least not yet.

“Mother _fucker_ ,” Sanji spat out. “That dumbass just about cost me a tooth. I’m going to filet him and serve him to his _goddamn first mate_.”

“Sanji, wait--” the sniper protested, but the blonde had already ascended out of the depths like a bolt of lightning, an angry cyborg not far behind him. Usopp chased after them, shouting, “Guys, stop! Wait for me!”

When he reached the upper deck, he could only look on dismay as Luffy tore across the ship, easily avoiding his pursuers even with that damn statue completely covering his head and obscuring his vision. Nami was on deck now too, just barely ducking out of the way as the three men went hurtling past her.

“Watch it, you idiots!” she screeched. “You can beat each other all you want, but don’t break anything!”

Their captain was long beyond hearing reason. He darted up the stairs and behind behind the upper mast, and in a cruel twist of fate, glanced off one of Nami’s trees with a great cracking sound. The navigator, watching in wide-eyed horror, yelped as if she had been struck instead. Luffy didn’t seem to notice, though, as he continued on his destructive path, down the opposite set of stairs and to the side of the ship. With one massive, flying leap he cleared the banister, sailed over the dock, and landed with both feet on the ground just outside Pomelo’s gates. Without a moment’s hesitation, he fled into the streets, stuttering laughter echoing inside his newfound armor.

“Get back here, you piece of shit!” Sanji screamed, and leapt off the banister as well. Franky dove off after them, yelling his own obscenities.

Nami grasped her face in despair. “My tree!!” She flew up the stairs to her tiny grove. Usopp followed her, breath coming out in panicked gasps.

“Is it damaged?!” he squeaked.

“I don't know, I heard something crack! Are there any branches on the ground?”

Usopp knelt down, immediately seeing some fallen branches toward the back of the tree’s trunk. “Y-yeah, a few ...!”

“What are you waiting for?! Let’s pick them up!”

“Y-yes, ma'am!” Usopp said with a bowed head, beginning to carefully collect what had been knocked down.

Nami’s peach-colored hands gingerly pushed through the foliage, painstakingly patting down the trunk. “I ... I don't think anything else is broken,” she gasped. A sniffle drew her attention to Usopp, who was carefully cradling the salvaged branches. He was also currently doing his best impression of a leaky faucet, water pouring from both his eyes and his nose. Nami held up her hands, confused. “Why are you crying?”

“I'm so relieved!!” he sobbed loudly, mouth hanging open until Nami gently closed his jaw.

“You’ll get over it, I promise,” she assured him. “The trees are fine, so wipe away that drool and help me pick up the rest of the fruit. Looks like I’ll have to juice more tangerines …”

The sniper passed the branches into Nami’s arms and jogged off to retrieve some baskets. With his back turned, him still sniffling bitterly, he didn’t see Nami’s exhausted smirk, tinged with just a hint of affection. He returned in record time and they began loading up two baskets with the mikan tree’s fallen brethren. With all sense urgency slowly draining away, they relaxed and worked listening to the soothing whisper of waves lapping at the boat.

“What was all that commotion about, anyway?” Nami asked, stifling a yawn. Maybe I’m due for a nap, she thought.

Usopp rubbed his neck, embarrassed. “Franky and I were making a sculpture, and ... I guess Luffy wanted to wear it around town.”

“Wear it,” she stated, completely deadpan.

“The inside is hollowed out.” He mimed the donning of Luffy’s new cap--what an enviable crown for the future Pirate King.

The navigator shook her head. “I ought to kill him for this.”

“But not me, right?”

She smiled slightly, giving him a pat on the back. “Nah, you're alright, Usopp.”

She retrieved the last of the tangerines, prying the last one open with her nails. She sat down cross-legged, handing one half to her companion and they both solemnly sucked at the pulp. Nami scraped out every last bit of fruit with her teeth and worried the rind with her molars. Her thick hair danced rebelliously in the wind, getting caught on her sticky cheeks. She mindlessly grinds the skin into bits and is considering that maybe it doesn’t taste _completely_ like shit and debating the merits of eating the rest when she catches Usopp staring.

“What?” she grunted, still working on the rind.

“Well ... I mean …” Usopp opened and closed his mouth. “You're not going to go beat him up? The captain, I mean.”

“What's the point?” she snorted, casually waving away the suggestion with her free hand. “I have better things to do with my time than chase after that idiot all day. I’m sure he didn’t mean it, anyway.”

“Are you sure? But you're Nami!” he urged. “That's just ... what you do!”

She smiled crookedly at his earnest expression. “Is it, now?”

“Y-yeah. If you didn't discipline everyone, we wouldn't have any order.”

“Haha. Order,” she giggled. “Sure. You could call it that.”

He searched her face, mouth drawn in a sullen frown. “I’ve always wondered … aren’t you ever disappointed in us?”

“Of course. Even ordinary people get disappointed with one another.” She eyed him, concerned. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“I don’t know, I just sometimes feel like …” he sighed, laying back on the wooden floor. “Like you deserve more.”

The navigator mulled his words over in silence. She wondered what part of her money-grubbing, harsh-spoken heart he thought deserved more than the blessings she’d already received.

“I get what I deserve,” she murmured, as if talking to herself, “and that’s already a lot. So don’t feel sorry for me. But hey--” She jabbed her pointer finger into his abdomen, making him reflexively curl in half. “Thank you.”

He blinked, not understanding why she was thanking him. “Any time … I guess.”

Nami patted his stomach briefly in apology for the prior treatment. “Now, let’s get ready for round two of juicing. After we’re done, I’m not gonna be able to hold a pencil steady for weeks.”

They helped each other rise, and with baskets in hand, descended back towards the galley.

 

As Nami and Usopp performed damage control, their less responsible counterparts charged like bulls through Pomelo’s pristine shopping district, sliding around corners and stepping on the toes of cheerful customers. They weren’t so much chasing Luffy but his yellow sash, which lingered briefly and gave away the captain’s position even when the man himself could not be seen.

Sanji signaled with his hand and split off, disappearing into the thin divide between two buildings. The shipwright hunkered down and forced himself to run faster--much faster than he was used to. The boost in speed made rounding corners especially hard to achieve without clipping a poor citizen.

But it paid off when he finally caught up to Luffy’s retreating back. He grinned to himself--Luffy probably thought he was safe if he just kept far ahead of his pursuers. And while Franky’s Strong Right was but a memory now, he had an even better trick up his sleeve.

Franky raised his arm, holding it steady with his left. He aimed straight for Luffy’s back, using his pointer finger as his sights. A mechanism in the block on his arm coiled back with a series of audible pops and in the next second released, dispatching Franky’s hand at just shy the speed of a bullet. But just as it closed in on its target, Luffy turned another damnable corner and the hand sailed past into a stranger’s back, knocking him over.

Franky stopped long enough to lift the dazed citizen back on his feet. “Sorry bro!” he said, calling over his shoulder as he ran away, “Have a super day!”

Though the shipwright had fallen behind, Sanji remained hot on Luffy’s trail. Thanks to a few ill-conceived shortcuts, which involved stumbling through trashcan-lined alleyways, he managed to cut Luffy off at an intersection. His leg swung out to whip Luffy in the chest, but the captain didn’t back down in the slightest--he simply leapt up and vaulted over, using Sanji’s leg as a springboard. The cook stood frozen, staring after him in disbelief until Franky breezed past.

Sanji quickly caught up to the other man, panting, “He’s too fast! A single attack isn’t going to get him.”

“I have an idea. Quick, grab this!” Franky untangled the ivy from his torso and tossed Sanji a few vines. They wrapped snugly around the chef’s hands. “We’ll cut him off again, and trap him with this!”

They crashed through a few more alleys and surged back onto the street, narrowly avoiding a cluster of town-goers. Finally, when they pulled out ahead of Luffy again, they jumped out in front of him and stretched their net. Luffy collided directly with it, but even Usopp’s robust parasite proved no match--he thundered through, tugging the men off their feet. The ivy was yanked from their grasp and curled around the sculpture atop Luffy’s head, making his escape look even more festive.

“Are you kidding me?!” the two men yelled in tandem, and the running began all over again.

“Wait!” Sanji soon yelled, sliding to a sudden stop in front of a single farmer’s stall. “Three hundred beli for a wheelbarrow’s worth of wheat? And this is some good stuff, too! I could make some of Nami-san’s favorite lemon cakes from scratch …!”

Franky doubled back and snagged Sanji by his shirt, pulling him back into the chase. “We don’t have time to stop and browse! Our captain is on a rampage! What the hell are you thinking?”

“This coming from the bastard who just _decided_ his fuckin’ art project was going to run on Nami-san’s precious fruit!” the cook snapped back.

“What?” Franky grimaced. “Usopp told you?”

“Of course! Any sensible person would be shocked by such a ludicrous idea! Do you have any idea what Nami-san went through for those trees, and how much courage it takes to share them with us? I thought even you would have some modicum of--”

“ _Okay!_ ” Franky bellowed, eyes screwed shut. “I get it, alright?! It was a stupid idea! The dumbest idea! I _know_ that already, that’s why I changed my mind!”

Despite the admission, Sanji still kicked him for good measure. “What the hell possessed you to come up with that idea in the first place?”

“I don’t _fucking_ know, Sanji!” Franky said, panting with anger and exertion. “Why do you think I wanted to make that sculpture? Just ‘cause Usopp’s a good artist?” His face softened as the sniper stuck in his mind. “I love him, but who is gonna spend hours on a project for a reason like that? We wanted to use that sculpture to show the different parts of Nami and Chopper that made them great.”

“Then the damn thing is fine as it is,” Sanji appraised, entirely unhelpful.

Franky glared at him, then directed a conflicted gaze at the ground moving below him. “For me, it’s not enough. It doesn’t express the right emotion. If it has no function, then it’s just a soulless hunk of metal. How can that simple sculpture express what I feel about my crewmates?”

Sanji opened his mouth to speak, but Franky intercepted him, shouting, “It can’t! But what function can I give a project like this? I figured, hey, it was easy enough to rig my own body to be powered by cola. Why not turn the sculpture into a machine, and let it run on the tangerines Nami is so proud of?” He growled and clutched his head in distress. “At least then it would mean something!”

“Franky …” Sanji gaped, “if you and Usopp worked on it together, it already means something.”

These pitying words did nothing to assuage the shipwright. He was about to continue arguing, but a sudden realization made his head snap up and cleared all thoughts of disagreement from his mind.

Sanji noticed the change. “What is it?”

Franky’s head whipped around, his entire face burning scarlet red.

“I don’t see Luffy at all anymore!!”

They’d gotten so absorbed fighting with each other that they ran around aimlessly, and now Luffy was nowhere to be seen. They both puttered to a stop, hands on their knees, breathing harshly.

“Fucking hell,” the cook swore. “We completely lost him.”

“Sorry,” Franky said genuinely.

Sanji measured the sun’s position with his single blue eye. “Man, it’s already past lunchtime. I need to get back. Can you find him yourself?”

“Yeah, probably. I’ve got a higher than zero percent chance, at least,” Franky conceded, standing upright. “There’s only a certain amount of places a guy like him would want to go.”

“I guess I’ll leave it to you then. But before I go,” Sanji said pointedly, “You’re a dumbass.” He held up a hand, discouraging Franky’s reflexive response. “There’s no getting around that. But you’re a dumbass for a different reason than I originally thought.

He stuck Franky with his finger over and over for emphasis. “Don’t waste time getting worked up over your own insecurities. It’s a collaboration--you did it together, and you had fun. That’s all that matters. If you keep deprecating yourself so carelessly, Usopp will get the wrong idea and think you don’t respect his ideas.”

Franky pouted sullenly. He didn’t like being told off, but Sanji had a point.

“… I understand.”

“Alright.” Sanji removed his finger and patted the other man’s chest. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. So throttle that rubber motherfucker, okay? Then I’ll forgive you.”

Franky smirked bitterly. “I can’t promise anything.”

“I should have guessed you’d say that.” Sanji said, and flipped him off before running full-speed back to the ship.

 

“Are you sure it’s supposed to be making that noise?” Nami asked Usopp as they both stood in his workshop, observing the composting machine--another thing he and Franky made together. It noisily ground up its contents, producing an unholy fragrance of tangerine rinds, food leftovers, and leaves Usopp clipped from his plants.

“Sounds like it’s chewing barbed wire,” Nami pressed when Usopp didn’t respond.

He stroked his chin, fiddling with the hairs there. “I don’t know. I mean, I think it’s probably fine. The worst it could do is just stop working … right?”

A knock came at the door, and Sanji poked his head in, covered in sweat.

“Hey guys, I just got back. Lunch will be ready in a few minutes, so come on up when you’re ready.”

“Thanks,” Nami said. She switched off the machine. “Let’s just go eat for now.”

They followed Sanji up and into the galley, where Robin, Zoro, Chopper, and Brook had already congregated. To their surprise, a den-den mushi lay on the table, receiver off the hook. Robin looked up and motioned them to come sit.

“Our captain is on the line,” she informed them.

“Nami, Usopp, is that you?” the snail piped up.

“Luffy, where are you calling from?” Usopp asked, sliding into his seat alongside Nami.

“A public booth. A really nice old lady lent me the money to call.” He yelled a muffled “thank you” to someone on the other end. “Just wanted to let you guys know that I’m having a great time, so I won’t be back for a while. I’m lost, though, so could you send someone after me eventually?”

“Franky’s already on his way,” Sanji answered as he worked on composing everyone’s dinner plates.

“If you come back tonight, you’d better be careful not to cross me,” the navigator warned. “You ran into one of my trees and knocked down a bunch of branches. Thanks to you, I had to juice an entire basket’s worth of more tangerines.”

“Now the lovely lady’s poor hands are sore,” Sanji added in disapproval.

The line was silent for a few moments. “Is it okay?”

“It’ll live,” Nami said. “Nothing that time can’t heal.”

Luffy sighed in relief. The sound brought a smile to everyone’s face. How unlike the pirate king to worry about anything, but even if he was careless, Luffy really did value his friends’ treasures and dreams above all else.

“Good!” the captain laughed after collecting himself. “Hey, by the way Sanji, can you send some food with Franky too? I’m _really_ hungry.”

“Should’ve thought about that before you ran off like a raving lunatic,” Sanji quipped, serving Nami and Robin their plates first.

“What?” Luffy whined. “But I’m staaaarving …”

“Then make sure you get home by dinner. Nobody has time to babysit you.”

“It’s alright, Luffy, you have plenty of time before dinner,” Robin assured him. “Just concentrate on having fun for a while. I’m sure you can beg a meal with somebody, if nothing else.”

“Ugh, alright,” the captain groaned. “Hey, before I go, I meant to tell Zoro and Brook something. While I was running around, I passed a really neat-looking blacksmith. You guys should check it out! It’s on the slummy side of town, where all the buildings are red. Just go straight into the town and keep going and you’ll find it.”

“That sounds marvelous!” Brook exclaimed. “We were going to go shopping anyway, so we’ll do that while we’re out. Of course, only if the lovely lady Nami is willing to lend us some money.” Brook clasped his hands together and sent Nami a sweet, pleading look.

“Good luck with that,” Luffy chuckled. “Alright everyone, I think my time is up. I’m going now. Save me some food, Sanji! Captain’s orders!”

Everyone bade Luffy goodbye in turn, and then Robin hung up the den-den. After the call officially ended, Zoro wasted no time in addressing Nami.

“So, about that spending money …”

She sighed and pulled a satchel she’d prepared from her pocket, full of paper money and some coins. As she handed it over she grimaced, like the action physically hurt.

“Don’t spend it all in one place,” she pleaded, and Zoro just smiled.

 

The wrong side of the town is the best place for two wandering swordsmen to scope out some nice deals. Zoro and Brook would know—they’d made a hobby out of some sort of window-shopping on each island they stopped at. The first-mate couldn’t sit around sleeping on the ship _all_ the time, but he also couldn’t go anywhere alone without getting lost. With the navigationally-talented Brook as his human compass, most days they can at least manage to get back to the Sunny before she casts off.

The area around Pomelo’s port bursted with wonderfully tidy restaurants and elegant glass storefronts stocked with casual fashion, but a seedy underbelly is hidden somewhere in every island. Within only twenty minutes of the two swordsmen departing the Sunny, the pretty little town and its bright colors bled quickly enough into the familiar dirt and grime of a rat’s nest.

People in stained clothing littered the streets, chatting and drinking idly on the stoops of cramped-together, rust-colored wood houses.  Zoro scanned the area, aware of pointed stares coming from every direction. These people were probably accustomed to pirates, not showing any fear or discomfort as they sized up Zoro’s swords and his deceased companion. Zoro wondered what weird shit this town had seen, if no one was unnerved by a walking skeleton.

“I like this place. Reminds me of my childhood,” Zoro said, and heard Brook snort.

The once-crisp air smelled faintly of heat and sweat. Zoro sniffed around, then pointed down a narrow alleyway, saying, “This way. Smells like the blacksmith is nearby.”

On the other side of the alley was an even more cramped sect of houses, most of them being used as makeshift and most likely illegal stores. As the swordsmen pressed on, men and women leaned out from the front windows of their homes, trying to convince them to come in and purchase clothes, cookware, or books. Children ran under the feet of passersby, clutching baskets filled with knick-knacks, candy, and _children’s mittens_ of all things, begging to trade for a few coins. Zoro gave the mittens-kids two beli for a pair of pink and orange mittens for Chopper.

Brook plucked an old top-hat covered with lavender and cream-colored faux roses off a vendor’s table, brushing the dust off its brim. He stared affectionately for a moment, then popped it on top of his afro and gave a shrill laugh.

“Yohoho, Zoro, how do I look?” The skeleton posed with his ass out and hands on his hips with such gusto that it would put even the shapeliest model to shame. “Drop-dead gorgeous, right?!”

“Hm, maybe,” Zoro said thoughtfully, then ducked into a stall across the street to grab something. He turned back to Brook and with one swift movement threw an absurdly-long, garish blue and yellow paisley-print scarf around his neck.

“Not as good as me,” he replied.

“Oh my, such a lovely color on—” Brook paused and pointed to Zoro’s hands. “Are you wearing Chopper’s mittens?”

Zoro frowned. “They’re not his until we get back to the ship.”

“But even your thumbs are poking out—”

“Oh, shut it,” Zoro said with a roll of his eyes, dropping money into the impatient hand of the stall owner.

They were only a few houses down the line when Brook cried out and ran to the window of another store, peering inside.

“Zoro, Zoro, it’s an antique shop! You should see this—from the ceiling to the floor, shelves upon shelves of old clocks and music boxes! Let’s go in and look!” He turned and showed Zoro the most excited face he could manage.

“No way. The last time we went antiquing, the dust almost killed me. And people looked at us kinda funny,” said the man wearing a bright paisley scarf and children’s mittens.

“Oh, antiquing is great, you’re just not used to it,” Brook began to explain, then straightened and poked his head back into the window. “Hello, ma’am! If you don’t mind, what are your hours, and may I see your panties?”

A loud shriek came from the inside of the store and Zoro rolled his eyes again, sauntering up to the window. A terrified young woman held shaking hands up in defense, eyes darting between the two strangers before her.

“Can you tell us where the blacksmith is?” Zoro asked.

Another young lady, probably the poor woman’s sister, came up behind her and said, “The blacksmith? Take a left at the end of this street, and keep walking for a few minutes, and the shop is on the right. You can’t miss it, it’s got a metal sign hanging from the door.”

“Thanks,” Zoro said, and wrenched Brook away from the store. “Come on, we’ll go there tomorrow. Now, she said we take a left up here …” At the end of the street he proceeded to turn in the wrong direction, and Brook gently led him to the left with a hand to his back.

As they walked, Zoro’s mind wandered. He’d spotted an ornately-carved, mahogany grandfather clock in that shop. All antiques fascinated Brook, but clocks especially. Zoro, who had little use for counting the hours, would never understand. But when the old bag of bones laid eye-sockets on a once-precious pocket-watch or a rusted, broken alarm clock he lit up so bright you could almost forget he was dead.

They found the blacksmith easy enough. Just like the young woman had said, a large black sign that said “weapons” swung silently over the door. A wall of oppressive heat and the dull sound of clanging metal welcomed them as they drew closer. The shop’s entrance was wide open, probably to air the place out. The two men braced themselves and walked inside.

There were a few tables against the left wall, each covered from end to end in knives, daggers, steel folding fans, and hammers—the biggest items available were a pair of sai and a pair of tonfa. The swordsmen briefly pored over this collection, sharing judgments and guessing prices. An old man sat in the corner of the room, watching his new customers closely—particularly Brook, who felt the need to pick up and handle every weapon that held his interest. All the while, Zoro listened for clanging. Sounded like the actual workshop was below them.

He asked the old man, “You got any swords?”

“Downstairs,” the man said gruffly, slowly pushing himself up with shaking arms. “The old lady doesn’t like to be watched.”

They followed him down a rickety flight of stairs to a stone basement bathed in bright orange and yellow light. The light was reflected a thousand times over against the blades of dozens of swords all hanging from the walls. A stout, elderly woman with jet-black hair was poised over her fire pit, tamping down an unruly slab of steel. The old man shouted for her, unintelligible over the noise, and she ceased her work.

“Name’s Bergamot,” she said, taking off her gloves. “What’re you looking for?”

“Swords,” Zoro murmured absently, already eyeing the tacked-up weapons vigorously.

“Well, feel free to browse. We’ve got everything from short-swords to rapiers, to axes and maces if you’re interested. Anything custom will take a few weeks.”

Zoro’s throat was beginning to gradually close up from the suffocating combination of fire, steam, and smoke. “How the hell do you breath down here?”

The old lady wordlessly pointed to a small, square-shaped opening in the corner of the ceiling. “Chimney runs all the way up outside. Poor design, but keeps me from being miserable.”

“How long have you been working here?” Brook asked.

“This shop’s only been open for about ten years, but I’ve been smithing for nearly forty.”

“Wow,” Brook breathed, leaning down to look at her in awe. “You must have very respectable panties.”

She smacked him across the cheekbone with her gloves, otherwise not dignifying him with a response.

Zoro stepped close to the wall to examine a katana with a matching scabbard. Both the blade and sheath were delicately engraved with what looked like bolts of lightning. The sheath was also adorned with a similar gold trim.

“Do you do the engraving, too?” he asked without looking away.

“Yeah. Though, this fool over here is the one who wraps the hilt of the sword,” Bergamot said, gesturing to the old man with a smirk. “Thinks he’s a real artist.” The man rolled his eyes and returned upstairs.

Brook watched him go. “Is he your husband?”

“He wishes,” she sighed. “Alright, boys, as of now I’m on my break, but if you have any questions, feel free.”

Brook bowed to her in thanks and then drew up beside Zoro, who was running his fingers along the hilt of a rapier.

“What came first, music or swordfighting?” Zoro suddenly piped up.

“Music, of course. I've played the violin ever since I was old enough to learn.” Brook put a bony finger to his chin, staring fondly off somewhere beyond the stone walls. “I remember being eight years old and having my first ‘concert’ outside a bar with a small swing band.” He barked out a laugh, “Yoho! I was terrible.”

“Eight years old, huh?” Zoro grunted, carefully unhooking the sword from the wall. “Where'd you grow up?”

“Oh my, I've long forgotten the name of that island. There were some groves and orchards near where I lived. The smell of citrus and lemon was almost oppressive.”

Zoro handed him the rapier, and Brook gratefully weighed it in his hands, finding the grip to be wonderful and a good fit for his hand. He took a few gentle practice thrusts, each stroke with the flow of a gentle river.

“What about you?” he asked.

“I couldn't tell you. A lot of different places? There was one dojo I stayed at for a few years, but otherwise I just went wherever I could fight someone.”

 “I barely remember the faces of my parents anymore,” Brook sighed wistfully, but without sadness. He rested the tip of the rapier on the ground, hands clasped regally over the hilt just like a king holds his scepter.

Zoro snorted derisively, “Yeah, well, nobody tells you that the most important days of your life often end up having nothing to do with who or where you came from.”

“Every single day is important,” Brook answered dismissively, but somehow Zoro could make out a smile of agreement on the other man’s face.

The dapper skeleton turned to Bergamot. “May I put this item on hold? I’d like to come back tomorrow and purchase it. The hand-guard would protect my hand perfectly, though there’s nothing much left to protect, yohoho!”

After learning the price tag on the item, they realized Nami probably wouldn’t appreciate them spending so much money on some dumb sword. But then again, she wasn’t going to appreciate the expenditure for Zoro’s scarf and Brook’s hat either. Well, they’d put the hunk of metal to good use. Surely it could find a place between somebody’s ribs.

They bade the shopkeepers goodbye and headed back towards the ship. The afternoon sun would soon hang low in the sky, and Robin wanted them back before evening.

“That woman reminded me of the sensei who first taught me how to swordfight,” Brook said with a pleasant clack of his teeth. “Mainly the name. My sensei’s name was Rootstock. She was part of a small group of teachers who wanted to teach without affiliation to a dojo or school.”

Zoro’s ears perked up. “Yeah?”

“She was nearing sixty years old when she first started teaching me, really thin and reedy, and about as tall as Usopp. But even at that age she was an absolute monster. She was renowned across my home island as a duelist, and one of the most brutal. She challenged everyone she could, so long as they could hold a sword upright.” The skeleton shrieked and grasped his own face in fear at the memory. “Yoho! I can’t count how many times she almost gutted me! After two weeks, I had to switch to another sensei. But even after I switched, Rootstock-san always watched me practice or asked how I was doing. We swore that when I was stronger, she’d go back to being my sensei. Unfortunately, she died before we could fulfill that promise.”

“In a duel?”

“Well, yes and no. She contracted pneumonia one winter, and while she was sick, an old rival challenged her to a duel. She fought him, but because of the physical strain she couldn’t breathe, and essentially suffocated on the battlefield.” Brook laughed shortly, “But she still won the duel.”

Listening intently, almost enraptured, Zoro asked, “What were her strengths?”

“Endurance and defense. Once she got into her stance, nobody could shake her. She’d die before she allowed herself to stumble.” Brook sighed happily, watching the memory replay in his head like a movie. “Even if her opponent far outclassed her in strength, she could stand her ground like nobody else. If she had wanted to, she could have been a great warrior who was known all over the world.”

Smiling to himself, Zoro remembered the young, tender face of a girl who would have been very happy to hear about Rootstock, and see the blacksmith Bergamot swinging her hammer. Strength came with time and work, the only two weapons suitable to battle what is predetermined in a person’s life.

The sound of Brook humming coaxed Zoro from his thoughts. He recognized the tune—a song Brook would sing by himself from time to time at night when he thought no one was around, sitting alone on the deck of the Sunny, while Zoro performed night watch in the crow’s nest. Zoro could never decide whether the other man sang it out of joy or sadness.

Quietly, eyes idly tracing the edges of slummy buildings, Zoro mouthed along, _there never seems to be enough time to do the things you want to do, once you find them …_

 

The bargain hunters returned home to the sight of everyone on deck, perched on lawn chairs and enjoying some ice cream. Sanji was really on a roll with the sweet treats.Nami and Usopp had already finished and were idly chatting by themselves, discussing some aspect of gardening. Chopper and Robin, a few feet away, were enjoying the last few spoonfuls of their own ice cream.

Sanji strode out onto the deck with a bowl in each hand. “Just in time--you guys were taking so long, I was just about to give your portions to Chopper.” He handed one bowl to Brook.

“Only one scoop?” the skeleton asked curiously.

“Look, we all learned the hard way about your mild lactose intolerance. Besides, knowing you, you’ll fill up with sweets and then pile meat on top of it until you almost break a rib, like last time.”

“Sorry, Chopper,” Zoro grinned apologetically. The little reindeer looked away bashfully, licking the inside of his bowl. “Guess you won’t be getting seconds. But I got you something else you’re gonna love.”

The swordsman produced the tiny mittens from his haramaki, displaying them proudly. Chopper clambered off his chair and over to Zoro, crying out in excitement. He held out his hooves for Zoro to slide them on--a perfect fit.

“Wow,” Chopper breathed happily, admiring the bright colors. “I _wish_ I had thumbs. That’s the only thing that could make this better.”

“Well, nobody will know you don’t have them, since your hands are covered up.”

While the doctor celebrated his new gift, Sanji quickly slipped into the kitchen and emerged with a stack of boxes, each individually wrapped with cloth. They emitted a delicious scent.

“Here’s your dinner,” he said, trading Brook’s already empty bowl for one of the boxes. “There’s a lot in there. Eat with moderation, alright? Don’t crack a bone.”

“You tease me too much,” Brook laughed, bowing gratefully.

“And here’s yours, my tender flower,” Sanji crooned, placing the box in her hands with the utmost grace and tenderness.

Chopper pondered their portable meals. “Are you guys visiting another graveyard?” he asked Zoro.

“Yup,” the man nodded. On every island, at least once, he, Brook, and Robin would take a late-night tour of a cemetery. It had started out as a random idea to fill the time while docked on an island, but quickly evolved into tradition.

“Want to come with us?” Robin suggested. “You seemed interested the last time we talked about it.”

Chopper paled at the idea, no doubt imagining the looming shadows of tombstones. “I-I don’t know, I’ve got a loooot of stuff to do, and someone here might need me later …”

“Come on, Chopper, it’ll be fun,” Brook chimed in. “It’s not scary at all, I promise. Even a scaredy-cat like me wouldn’t break a sweat. If we find a nice open spot on the ground, we sit down and eat together under the bright night sky. You might like it.”

The reindeer glanced at Zoro uncertainly, receiving only a shrug in return. He pursed his lips, unconvinced, and struggled internally until Sanji dangled the last dinner box in front of his nose.

“You really want to tag along, right?” he guessed, smiling. He knew Chopper was never crazy about morose hobbies like visiting graves, but he’d do it if it meant getting to spend more time with his nakama. “I promise you’ll be fine. The Marines we’ve fought are a hundred times worse than any ghosts or ghouls.”

Though he still felt uneasy, Chopper hesitantly accepted the box, and watched Sanji duck back into the kitchen. He noticed that Zoro now had no box, which was probably what Sanji had left to retrieve.

“Make sure to bundle up,” Robin advised. She nudged Chopper away and watched him scamper off to find a coat. “It’ll be chilly on the way back.”

“Already got it covered,” Zoro said proudly, wrapping the paisley scarf snug around his neck.

Head tilted back, Robin looked down her nose at Zoro’s newly-purchased accessory. “Perhaps,” she suggested sweetly, “you’d like to consider choosing another scarf.”

“Eh?” he frowned. “Why?”

“You make it _way_ too easy for me, marimo,” Sanji chided as he kicked open the galley door, sounding almost disappointed. “Just let the dumbass be a walking fashion disaster. The poor beast only gets to go on sprees so often. The spoils are shitty, but his stupid heart’s in the right place.”

The chef served Zoro a wicked grin as a side order to the large, delicately-wrapped bento box he dropped into the swordsman’s open hands.

“Is everyone ready to go?” Robin announced, and Zoro turned to see that Chopper had returned, cloaked in a tiny parka, and Brook had opted for a black trenchcoat and some gloves. “Let’s hurry or we won’t get there before the moon is up.”

“Don’t think I’ll forget this,” Zoro promised Sanji, offering up his middle finger for the second time that day. “You’re lucky your cooking is the smallest step up from disgusting.”

What would normally be a scathing remark for a top-tier cook rolled right off of Sanji’s back. He returned Zoro’s obscenity, ever faithful, and responded, “You’re welcome, shithead.”

The blonde saw them all off as a group with a much more polite wave.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he called out. “Franky called just a few minutes ago--he found Luffy and they’re on their way home. So don’t stay out too late, okay? We’ll want to welcome the captain home properly. Or kick him in the face. I’m fine with either.”

The group made a collective noise of assent, bidding him a small chorus of farewells. And with that the they departed into the evening, foggy breaths already decorating the air with their laughter at Zoro’s expense.

This time, they didn’t have to trudge through the slums to get to their destination. By the time they reached the large graveyard on the edge of the city, the coquettish moon was just beginning to peek out from a thin veil of clouds. As far as the eye could see, dotting the rolling hillsides, old and crumbling headstones stoically awaited visitors. Brook forged ahead of the party, stopping to brush his bony hand against a spire-shaped headstone strangled with ivy. Robin lingered at the back, quickly scanning each passing grave for birth and death dates--no doubt cataloguing every single one. Later she would compile a list of names, and together with Brook’s help, would seek out every scrap of information available about the people buried there. They had seen too many lives snuffed out before their eyes to take dead people for granted. Though they called this a “hobby,” perhaps it bordered on obsession.

The person who prevented the obsession from truly taking hold was the green-haired moron who carelessly stomped through the grass, searching only for the graves of swordsmen. He walked up to Brook’s side and, cocking his head briefly, tore away the vines completely.

“There. Should be alright for the next few years now, provided a storm doesn’t come through,” Zoro said, eyes saying in conclusion, “so you can stop worrying about it now.”

“Come on, grandpa,” he pestered, grabbing Brook by the sleeve. “We’ve got acres to explore.”

Brook sighed a little, that strange ethereal, imperceptible notion of a smile gracing his pallid face. He supposed that only such a young man could keep a timeless man like himself moving forward.

“Don’t stray too far ahead,” Robin called after them. She looked down at Chopper, who was glued to her leg and shivering uncontrollably.

“S-so spooky … you guys do this at every island?” he asked her, teeth chattering.

“When we have time,” Robin smiled. “How about you let me carry you? It would make me feel better about having to walk in such a dark, scary place.”

Chopper’s face flashed with relief and glee. “Ah--well, if it would make you feel better, I _guess_ I can let you hold me!”

He said this, and yet he all but leaped into Robin’s waiting arms. From the vantage point her grasp allowed, the calming light of the moon washed over Chopper. He looked around, taking in the graveyard with fresh spirits and admiring the glinting gravestones. He wondered about the people who were buried here. What were they like? Maybe some of them were Marines, or pirates just like himself. He wondered if any of them had been somebody’s Hiriluk, or Doctorine, or maybe even … somebody’s Bellemere. Maybe someone buried here had given their live for someone they loved more than anything in the world.

Thinking about Bellemere, Chopper’s mind drifted back to his conversation with Sanji. At that time, the cook had said something really strange. Something about … confessing, and that it was related to the weekly tangerine-juicing.

The reindeer shyly glanced at Robin, thinking. Robin had to know, right? She was smart, she knew everything about everyone on the crew. Or at least, she seemed to. But maybe, Chopper thought, he should ask Nami himself instead of going behind her back.

“Chopper, is something wrong?” Robin asked, and only then did the doctor realize he’d been wriggling in frustration.

“Um … well you see, I just …” he sighed. “I want to ask you a question. And you don’t have to answer me! Not unless it’s okay.”

“Just ask me,” Robin soothed.

He breathed in, preparing himself, and then blurted out, “Do you know how Nami chooses her helper every week?”

She blinked at him slowly. “What? That’s what you wanted to ask?” She chuckled at his confused expression. “The way you were acting, I thought it was much more serious than that. You mean you really haven’t figured out her system?”

The reindeer shook his head furiously, hoping Robin would elaborate on her own.

“I suppose I didn’t figure it out either for a while. I always had an inkling of the reason, ever since that time when she asked Luffy to help her the day after he lost that massive seaking he wanted to eat … or when Franky dropped the vivre card Iceburg gave him into the toilet.” She paused to laugh at the memory. “The card was completely ruined. He was so upset. You remember?”

“Yeah,” Chopper nodded. Who wouldn’t be upset if they lost the vivre card of someone important to them?

“I didn’t confirm my hunch until one week, when Nami chose me. Wouldn’t you know, it just happened to be a few days after Usopp and Luffy ruined three of my most important history texts. If it hadn’t been for the advice Nami gave me while we worked, I might still hold a grudge against them even now.”

She smiled at Chopper and asked, “You still don’t know the reason? It’s simple--Nami only employs people when they need her.”

“When we … need her?” The doctor frowned. “But we always need her. She’s our navigator.”

“There’s a difference between needing a professional and needing a friend. Every week, she forgets her job, and becomes somebody’s saving grace. Don’t you think it’s a little strange how she swoops in asking for help just when you’re feeling uncertain about yourself?”

The sudden realization knocked all the breath out of Chopper’s lungs.

_“Chopper, what’s your favorite thing about being a doctor?”_

He bit his lip, teeth pressing down more and more as tears dripped slowly onto his cheeks. The memory of her smiling face, eclipsed by the sunlight, bore down on his heart with the doubt--what if, this entire time, Nami was the one who was suffering alone for their sake?

“No,” he whined softly. “No! I won’t accept that!”

He turned to face Robin and put his hooves on her shoulders. “If she’s taking responsibility for helping us, then who is going to help her?”

Robin gently brushed his tears away. “That’s a very silly question.”

“But I don’t know when Nami’s hurting! Do you? Does everyone else? But I … I didn’t even know that her mom was dead, or who those trees belonged to!” Guilty tears welled over, covering his face and Robin’s neck with thick drops. “How can we be people she can share her burdens with?”

“No one can know a person’s every emotion. That’s an impossible task--don’t call upon yourself to do so.” Robin took one of Chopper’s hooves in her hand, rubbing comforting circles into his furry palm. “Sometimes, the most direct approach is the best. Tell her that she can lend you her sadness. Tell her how much you care for her, as often as you remember. If she takes advantage of that, then good. If not, so be it. You just worry about those two things, and let her deal with the rest.”

The young boy sniffled, knowing that Robin was right. The only thing he could do that he hadn’t done already was be more supportive, and put his faith in Nami. Though, that seemed difficult, since it took all his courage to put his faith in Robin’s words right now.

“You think you can do that?” Robin prompted. It took a few long seconds, but eventually Chopper nodded in concession. At that, the archaeologist smiled once more and pulled out a handkerchief, dabbing the boy’s face.

“Hey, Robin! Chopper!” they heard Zoro shout. The man jogged over to meet them. “Get a move on, will you? Brook and I have already seen half of the first hill.” He glimpsed Chopper’s puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks and immediately grew stern. “Oi, Robin. Did you make Chopper cry?”

“In a way,” she shrugged slightly. “But he’s alright now.”

“Good. We found this bounty hunter’s grave--Brook says he got struck down by Mihawk. We’re gonna eat there and pay our respects to the pitiful guy.”

He turned and began walking, intending to lead them. But Robin needed only to look up and spot Brook waving from the top of a hill to see that Zoro was going in the completely wrong direction. Chopper chuckled in her ear, voice still thick with tears. They jogged after the swordsman and pulled him onto the right course.

Eating on some stranger’s grave is in no way glamorous, yet after Brook spread his trenchcoat on the ground like a picnic blanket, the dark and somber cemetery turned warm and homely. They unwrapped their dinner boxes and bowed their heads before the unfortunate man’s headstone. Each nakama said a silent prayer in their hearts for their own dead comrades. Then they began to eat.

“Does he have any family?” Robin asked Brook.

“If he does, they’re either alive or not in this cemetery,” the skeleton answered, noisily chomping. He swallowed, and the food went down his throat and who knows where. “The grave is at least eighty years old, judging by the date of death. And it doesn’t look like anyone has bothered to maintain it.”

Just another of the harsh truths of life as a criminal. Bounty hunting could take a man to any corner of the world, far away from anyone that could be considered family. Even if they weren’t tossed into an unmarked grave, there was no guarantee their family would know where they were buried, be able to get to the burial grounds, or want to be considered relatives of a criminal.

The cruel reality of this harsh path was exactly why Zoro couldn’t allow his life to end in anything other than a magnificent defeat. Should the law or sickness take him, he would never be able to rest easy. At least he’d have people to remember him.

“Well, we’re here now,” he said. He scooped some vegetables into his palm and sprinkled them onto the small patch of soil not covered by Brook’s coat. “There are much worse ways to be forgotten. Keep your pride strong.”

“I hope we can go back to Thriller Bark someday,” Brook mused, quietly staring across the rows of stone. “Surely the spirits there are restless too. And my own companions … I wonder how they’re doing.”

“We’ll definitely go back. I need to see Yubashiri again, too.”

“We’ve all got our own dead friends we need to visit,” Robin noted.

Chopper meekly stuffed his cheeks. “I hope we can all meet them together.”

“I don’t see why we can’t. Brook needs to meet my sensei, anyway,” Zoro said fondly. “And I know an old friend who’d be very happy to meet you and Robin. Maybe by that time, I …” He closed his eyes, lapsing into thought.

“Hm?” Brook hummed, looking across the graveyard. The other three followed his gaze and saw that, on the other side of the cemetery fence, their captain was waving and shouting enthusiastically from atop Franky’s broad shoulders. He still clutched the ivy-laced sculpture with one arm.

“Is that Franky and Usopp’s art project?” Zoro asked.

“It looks like--” Chopper squinted, “Nami and I? Is that us on top of that giant thing?! I see antlers, and Nami’s hair, but … Why do we look so weird?!”

The shipwright lifted Luffy over the fence, hopping over after him. Not a second after the captain’s feet found solid ground, he barreled towards them with leaps and bound, just barely dodging gravestones.

“Luffy!” Franky shouted, Robin’s voice echoing his.

“Captain!” Brook shrieked. A shrill “yoho” escaped in spite of himself. “If you don’t slow down, you might trip!”

Even if Luffy had been willing to listen, the warning came too late. The infamous Straw-hat Luffy, possessor of such physical skill that he could outmaneuver a shichibukai and avoid death on a regular basis, caught his foot on a divet in the ground and pitched forward against a headstone halfway between the fence and his friends. The sculpture in his arms crashed into the stone with a deafening, hollow clang. The force of the blow knocked the entire stone over, and Luffy, in all his grace, fell flat on top of it.

Brook jumped to his feet, covering his face in horror. Franky, trying to approach slowly to avoid making Luffy’s mistake, gave a yell of disbelief.

“What have you done?” Chopper cried. “Oh my God, what if you cracked it?! Get up, get up!”

“Most men only have one place to rest, Luffy! Don’t be so careless!” Brook added, almost in tears, though he didn’t have the ducts to cry.

Chopper continued to chatter nervously, and Robin shot Franky a hopeless, slightly-pale look as he finally closed in.

“What do we do in this kind of situation?” Franky asked, rubbing his neck nervously. “If it’s cracked, we could go to the town hall, I guess, but I doubt they’d take kindly to helping pirates. Think we could get someone else to report it? Would they replace it if we did?”

As the others remained absorbed in their frantic discussions, Zoro crouched down, cautiously reaching out to touch Luffy lightly on the shoulder.

“You okay, captain?” he asked. The boy remained silent and unmoving, prompting Zoro to gently shake him. “Can you get up?”

Slowly, Luffy rose up onto his elbows, face hidden by his hair. Zoro’s eyes widened, and he reached back, gesturing wildly to the others. All conversation ceased as everyone watched Luffy push himself up. All color had vanished from his cheeks. His mouth gaped open and closed like a fish.

“This is the place where somebody was … and I ... ” he breathed out and looked helplessly at his first mate. His coal-black pupils dilated, filled with an alien coldness. “What if this person had a brother?”

Without a second to spare, Franky surged forward and scooped Luffy into the air. “What’re you talking about?” he laughed nervously. “You only knocked it over! Barely even touched it! I bet there’s not even a scratch on it!”

“O-oh! Yes, yes!” Brook trilled, bending at the waist to examine the headstone. “Why, I don’t see even a blemish! In fact, this stone is so unworthy of scrutiny that I’d be offended you made me bow to look at it, if it didn’t give me the chance to show you my special edition pose, ‘twenty degrees!’”

Chopper rushed to the stone, placing both hands on its head with desperate glee.

“I don’t know what I was thinking! These stupid things fall over all the time! With how bad storms get on this island, I’m surprised it was standing at all--probably was waiting for the slightest bump to tip it over!” With a firm heave, he pulled the stone back into a standing position. Its face was completely unscathed, thankfully. “See?”

Zoro assisted the little reindeer, palming dirt and grass back around the base of the stone. Beside him, their musician continued to beg Luffy’s attention, this time bending backwards farther than the human spine should ever allow. Franky perched their captain on his shoulder once more, snickering at the skeleton’s antics.

“The only thing you damaged was the sculpture,” Robin pointed out, hefting the statue to display a large dent in its side. “Though, it’s quite the improvement, in my opinion.”

“Hey,” Franky said. His terse frown did nothing to faze her innocent grin. He whipped around on Luffy, who was chuckling nervously on his shoulder. “Hey! You too. Be more apologetic.”

“Sorry,” Luffy obliged, though his half-smirk betrayed him. “Will it be alright?”

Robin held the sculpture a bit higher for Franky to examine. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Hm, looks like only the base was damaged. But whatever, it’s designed to take a beating! It’ll still stand up straight, and that’s all that matters.”

Luffy sighed in relief, some of the warmth returning to his expression. “I’m glad. I guess I’ll have to apologize to Usopp when we get back.”

“I’m sure he’ll understand,” Robin reassured him, and finally the crushing tension lifted fully from everyone’s hearts. “I think we should clean up and head back. If we stay much longer, it’ll be too dark to find our way.”

“We’d be alright,” Franky piped up. “My nipple lights can pierce through--”

“ _Absolutely not_ ,” Robin scowled, and commenced cleaning up their picnic.

After retrieving his trenchcoat, Brook was charged with carrying the dinner boxes. His second volunteer job included keeping Zoro on track, who held the injured sculpture. The moron almost wandered off so many times that Brook eventually linked elbows with him and led him around like a toddler. Chopper rode sleepy-eyed in Robin’s arms, and Luffy nodded off against Franky’s sinewy neck. They made the journey back to the ship in peaceful silence, only the splashing of waves against the dock reaching their ears.

When they arrived home, Nami and Sanji were still awake in the galley, though yawning impatiently. Usopp was slumped over on the table snoring, jolting into a sitting position once his nakama entered. When Zoro tried to put the sculpture down, the Heracles ivy clinged affectionately to his arms--so affectionately that it took several people to extricate the man. Brook brought up the rear and passed off the boxes to Sanji, tiredly complimenting the meal.

“You two must be hungry,” Sanji said to Franky. “Wake up that loser and I’ll give you your dinner.”

“Thanks to the captain’s rampage, I had to juice some more oranges,” Nami grouched, retrieving a jug from the fridge. She began pouring glasses without asking, and everyone crowded the table, readily receiving their refreshments.

Luffy only needed one whiff of Sanji’s cooking and he was restored to alertness--though, he spooned the food into his mouth more sluggishly than normal. In contrast, Franky devoured his portion like a madman, and begged for seconds. Thankfully, Sanji was gracious enough to comply. The shipwright knocked back his juice with a grateful sigh.

“Nothing like tangerine juice,” he declared, wiping his mouth with a hand. “Definitely better for drinking.”

Nami narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Better than what?” She only received a sheepish shrug in response.

“By the way, what the _hell_ is that thing?” Zoro asked, jerking his chin at the lonely sculpture sitting near the door. “I was staring it down the whole way home and I still have no idea what you were trying to accomplish.”

“Oh. Haha, you can’t tell ‘cause it’s so abstract, huh?” Franky said with a grin. “Usopp saw Nami and Chopper through the galley window this morning and decided to draw them. It looked really beautiful until I interfered.”

“I think the blame can be split fifty-fifty,” Usopp admitted.

The navigator put her hands on her hips and got closer to examine the strange piece of art. “Why is there a huge dent in it?”

Luffy raised his hand slowly, vapidly chewing the last bites of his dinner. After he was finished, he lay his head on the table and immediately fell back asleep.

“Ah,” Nami said, understanding. She turned back to the sculpture, observing it further. Her nose wrinkled up, but she still seemed vaguely appreciative. “Well, I guess I have to applaud you for putting so much effort into this. I wouldn’t have spent that much time on it.”

“Question is,” Chopper leaned into a full-body stretch, wiggling his cloven toes, “what were you planning to do with it?”

“I don’t know. Display it somewhere?” Franky suggested.

“Is there anywhere we could put it that it would be out of the way?” Usopp asked. “Other than mine or Franky’s workshop. Otherwise it’ll just uselessly collect dust.”

“I’d say we could put it up next to the trees, but if we leave it exposed to the elements, it’ll be gone within the month,” Nami mused thoughtfully, arms crossed over her chest. “That rules out the deck completely.”

“I wouldn’t mind displaying it in the library,” Robin offered. “As long as it’s anchored properly.”

“That’d be super,” Franky agreed. “If everyone’s cool with that, I could set it up tonight, no problem. Though Usopp, you might want to remove the ivy.”

“Maybe not tonight,” the sniper yawned. “You can go ahead and install the statue anyway. The ivy is actually a nice accessory.”

“Aw shit,” Franky smacked his own forehead, “we forgot to put in the lights.”

“It’s plenty outlandish without the lights,” Nami asserted. “They’d just be distracting. Let your poor creations live a relatively normal life for once.”

So they all decided to display the unfinished sculpture, green drapery, cosmetic injury and all, in the middle of the main floor of the library. The whole crew watched on in exhaustion as Franky deftly screwed the base into the floor. After he finished, they gave a lazy victory cry, and trickled one by one out of the library towards their respective bedrooms. Only Robin and Sanji were left behind. The latter stood unmoving, eyes glued to the sculpture.

Robin sauntered to his side, giving him a quizzical glance. He looked completely wiped out, eyes half-lidded, but a gentle smile was stuck to his face.

“Nami must have been really happy,” he commented appraisingly. Now Robin _knew_ he was tired--only when he brushed the edge of consciousness did “Nami-swan” and “Robin-chwan” fade away long enough for Sanji to reveal what he knew about them beyond their beauty. To Robin’s surprise, he always knew more than she thought he would.

“It’s hard to tell with her. But I can’t imagine she was anything but flattered,” Robin responded. “Though, from the dumbstruck look on your face, I get the impression you’re happy enough for the both of you.”

The cook barked a short laugh. “I don’t know about that. It’s just …”

He hesitated, blue eyes sparkling like crystals as he looked both at the statue and far beyond it. He spoke quietly, as if giving away a weakness.

“Thanks to our engineers, I am reminded two-fold of the reasons why my nakama are precious. I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

Robin had never agreed with him more than she did in that moment. She rested an elbow on his shoulder, sharing his warmth and joy. Even peaceful moments with the perverted chef came with no strings attached--that thought made Robin feel just as fortunate.

They stood quietly together until they could fight sleep no longer. Sanji escorted her out of the library, and thus they closed the door on another brief chapter in the life of the Straw-hats.


End file.
